


Good Question

by Jaydeun



Series: Making Friends [1]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexuality, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Strong Female Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 10:53:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19810795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaydeun/pseuds/Jaydeun
Summary: ”So,” Anathema said, as though this was the continuation of a rather serious conversation they hadn’t been having, “What happens if you love someone—I mean really, really love them—but know they are just wholly unsuitable for you?”Crowley swerved to miss a pedestrian that wasn’t there....In which Anathema Device has a relationship question for Crowley. While he is driving. Which is never good.





	Good Question

Good Question

This was not how Crowley intended to spend his evening. Granted, he hadn’t made specific plans, per se, apart from nipping one of the older vintages from Aziraphale’s seemingly inexhaustive back room supply. But at the very least he hadn’t foreseen that he’d be acting chauffer and dropping the book girl back to Tadfield. Crowley winced slightly; _Agnes Nutter probably had._

Anathema. That was the name. Meant cursed or something. Abomination. Sporting of her parents, really. He slid his pupils sideways behind the dark lenses. Dressed almost as unfashionably as Aziraphale, but she managed to look more together while doing it. A witch thing, he guessed. Maybe they had fashion rags; the Demonic Times hosted one after all, much good it did anyone. Blue fuzzed woolen coat thing. Very big belt. Also she was looking at him, now. 

”So,” she said, as though this was the continuation of a rather serious conversation they hadn’t been having, “What happens if you love someone—I mean really, really love them—but know they are just wholly unsuitable for you?”

Crowley swerved to miss a pedestrian that wasn’t there.

”What?” He asked, and then followed up with a more appropriate _”What?”_

Anathema did not seem to register either the inflection or intonation but went on serenely enough. “Newt. Pulsifer.”

Well. Ok. Question was not wholly unintelligible perhaps.

”That’s your—?“ Crowley asked.

”My boyfriend. Yes. Do we seem—compatible?”

Crowley had been on earth long enough to know there were some questions you DID NOT ANSWER. So he asked one of his own.

”Why you asking me for?” A pretty good question, too. He’d done nothing to deserve this except be in the wrong place at the right time, with Aziraphale _tickety-booing_ him into taking the girl all the way to Oxfordshire on a Thursday night. Which reminded Crowley to ask the better question: “Why didn’t you ask the angel? Spent the day there, didn’t you?”

Anathema gave him a rather sharky look. “And you think he would have answered me honestly?”

”S’an Angel. Has to.”

Now the sharky look had teeth.

”You know better,” she said. And that was true. Crowley pursed and curled his lips, a bit duck like.

”Yeah, all right. He’d say _well, really, my dear, there’s someone for everyone—and love is ineffable,_ or some nonsense.” He’d used Aziraphale’s voice for that, and Anathema laughed. Crowley refused to believe this was showing off, or that it pleased him she’d found it funny. But to be honest, he did like an audience.

”See?” Anathema sputtered, smiling wide. “He wouldn’t tell me. So I’m asking you.”

”You still haven’t said why.”

The girl was looking at him again. Not like before, not as though she’d just called a bluff. Crowley had gotten pretty good at reading human emotions, but mostly from a distance and directed at other people.

”Hasn’t anyone ever just—wanted your opinion?” she asked. It was oddly gentle. He didn’t half like it. “You’ve been on earth 6000 years, and unlike _some_ people we know, you have been paying really close attention.”

They’d got well clear of London by now, and the roads were fairly dark. Crowley watched the forever receding halo of headlights. The first answer, of course, was no, not especially. Even Aziraphale didn’t ask his opinion; he GOT his opinion, of course. Crowley just never left much time for the asking part. 

”Erm—what was the question again?”

Anathema pulled her knees in, semi-hugging herself in the passenger seat.

”I love Newt. I just don’t know _why_. Look at me; I’m educated. I’m an accomplished witch. I have a family fortune and a historical pedigree—“

”That got burned at the stake,” Crowley reminded her. She shot him a rather unkind glance.

”Yes. But Crowley—I’m the cool one.

Crowley laughed. This was a mistake. Anathema shot one hand forward, snatched the steering wheel, and pulled it hard to the left. The Bentley jumped as they went slight off road, and Crowley yanked it back on course.

”What is WRONG with you?” He demanded, swiveling his neck in a rather inhuman way and glaring at her. The woman in his passenger seat looked entirely at ease. Worse, she looked wickedly _pleased_. But also oddly chastising. The combination was entirely unsettling, especially since, as a created being, Crowley had never had the privilege of being in trouble with a formidable mother. 

”I am the cool one,” she repeated. “Like you. I’m like you, Crowley.”

”You are NOT—“Crowley started, but found himself wincing when she made the slightest move for the wheel. “Okay. Fair point.”

”So, considering all that—is it weird that I am in love with clumsy, goofy, slightly bafoonish Newt Pulsifer?”

Crowley felt itchy. This was not a conversation he wanted to be having. But as it happened, he had an answer.

”Yeah. S’weird all right.”

Anathema stared at him, mouth gaping. Crowley decided more words were probably best.

”Look, it’s weird. You want me t’say something else? It’s weird. And Madame Tracey is _fucking_ weird, and the fact I hang out with a tasteless angel is weird. Everything about Earth is weird. What’s the problem?”

Anathema twitched her nose in a way that made Crowley think of a squirrel and Aziraphale at once.

”What if I marry him?” she asked.

”Got to be asked first,” Crowley interjected. Anathema stuck her chin out aggressively. 

”I do not,” she insisted. “I could ask _him_. Why should I wait to make the first move? Why should we wait on someone else?”

Crowley felt like the care just rose several degrees and he wasn’t sure why

”Fine. So ask him,” he said. “Point is—” but he’d forgotten the point.

”I think,” Anathema said helpfully, “that you’re saying it doesn’t matter if he’s clumsy. Or oafish. Or that he managed to set his own slippers on fire yesterday.”

”Or confuses a karaoke bar for a sushi restaurant,” Crowley added from experience. Anathema giggled.

”Or can’t work out the difference between baking soda and fine sift flour,” Anathema offered. Crowley could only imagine what horror that led to.

”Or assumes all music is either classical or bebop,” he agreed. Anathema snorted.

”Or can’t use a computer to save his life.”

”Don’t get me started,” Crowley groaned in agreement. They had turned onto the back road to Anathema (and Newt’s) cottage. She gave a satisfied sigh.

”You’re the cool one,” she said. “We don’t get enough credit for being the cool ones.”

Damned if she wasn’t dead on there. She’d have made a reasonable enough demon, really, if Crowley had wanted to wish that on anyone. And he didn’t.

”Home,” he said instead, pulling the Bentley to a stop outside the wicket gate.

”As long as you love them,” Anathema said quietly, so quietly Crowley almost missed it. She opened the door. “Thanks. I needed a friend.”

”Erm. Don’t mention it,” Crowley said, then dropped his glasses enough to let the snake eyes peep over. “I’m serious. Don’t mention it. To people.”

Anathema smiled broadly. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said. Then shut the door and skipped up the walk to where Newt no doubt waited. As humans go, Crowley thought, she wasn’t all bad. You could almost like her.

Inside, Newt had managed to make tea without setting the house on fire.

”That was the Anthony fellow? Crowley?” he asked, slightly bemused. Anathema stood on tip-toe and planted a kiss on his forehead.

”It was indeed.”

Newt blushed and shifted uneasily before pulling out a chair for her. ”What did the two of you talk about all the way from London?” he asked. Anathema smiled—devilish, beatific. The sort that led angels astray.

”Oh you know,” she breathed, sipping tea. “Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationship.”


End file.
